


The Hollow Woman

by SwordDraconis113



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Dark One Emma, F/F, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they arrive in the Enchanted Forest, Emma’s waiting for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the way the world ends

**Author's Note:**

> Those who have crossed  
> With direct eyes, to death's other kingdom  
> Remember us - if at all - not as lost  
> Violent souls, but only  
> As the hollow men  
> The stuffed men.

Granny’s Diner arrives, hitting the ground with a loud rrr- _ka-thump!_ that knocks them all off their feet. Henry is the first to stand, pushing off the counter table that’s bruised his shoulder as he rushes to the door, making sure, he has to make _sure_ that they are in the Enchanted Forest.

His hand, already shaking, finds the door handle as Snow, too, rises to her feet, standing beside Hook and Regina as Charming clamours from the chair he’d been thrown into and Belle helps an injured Zelena to stand up.

The door swings open, midday light greeting them with a sudden, startling blast.

They blink, blinded as their eyes adjust to the light. Charming is the first to hear that something’s wrong, his hand going for the gun on his hip as Henry knocks back into a table, hand grabbing around the edge for stability.

The source of his fear steps into the diner’s unlit interior. There, in the doorway, is not a glowing smile of a dear one, happy to see them, but a disgusted, heavy expression of an enemy. Something has gone terribly wrong.

Emma takes another step forward, the black coat she wears sweeps the floor behind her as she turns her head to look at each one of Granny’s occupants. Her eyes glance over them, not as individuals, but as a group that twists her mouth further downwards until a glint of her teeth bear as she reaches Belle, who appears to take a step back, and finally, Zelena, standing in the corner with a bemused expression.

There’s a stilted moment, everyone having become frozen to the vinyl floor, then, “Emma!” Mary Margaret cries, moving to run forward before a hand locks around her arm, holding her back.

“That’s not Emma,” Regina states, pushing to move in front of Mary Margaret as David wraps his hands over his wife’s shoulder.

The magic crackling around Emma is familiar to Regina, but it does not belong to the saviour. This is not the woman they came to redeem. This is a woman who has long since embraced the darkness.

“Who _are_ you?” Regina asks, studying over the woman, from the blonde hair knotted back from her face, to the matt, black boots.

“Emma,” comes out a hoarse response. Her skin’s pale, almost like a ghost. Her eyes, distant from them all now, appear to Regina as though she’s not sure of whom she’s staring at. This is not Emma.

“ _You,_ whoever you claim to be, are not our Emma.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then who are you?” Regina asks again. This time, she feels the spark of magic pouring to her fingertips. “I don’t enjoy asking twice.”

“I told you,” she speaks, “I’m Emma. I’m just not the one you left ten years ago to awake in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Ten years?” Hook barks. “It’s only been a few days!”

Something glimmers and leaves in Emma’s eyes, a confirmation to a question she held. “For you,” she whispers, her voice going back to the hoarse sound. Regina looks over to where Emma’s parents stand, a coldness slipping over them like a vice. _Ten years_ , they all seem to wonder, _for Storybrooke, too?_

They can’t think like this, they can’t wonder what has happened when right now, they’re not even sure if they can believe this woman, this woman who appears nothing like her, suddenly claiming to be Emma.

“We require proof,” Regina speaks, awakening from her fears of _ten years_. Too late, she realises, unable to react as Hook rushes over to grab at Emma. His fingers wrap around her arm and Emma tears away, crying out, “Do not touch me!” as a blast of magic throws him over the counter, into the wall of the diner.

Mary Margaret cries out Emma’s name, the word echoing between fear and scolding as Henry is frozen to the ground, confused as unwanted terror for his mother takes over him, and Regina turns, looking away from Hook to face her again. She doesn’t miss the brief fear that twitches over Emma’s face.

“Proof,” she says again, steeling herself from empathy and fear. This is not a woman who can so quickly be reasoned with.

“And why should _I_ be the one to prove it to you?” Emma asks, her lips twisting into a snarl. “After all, you all are the reason I became this way.”

“We didn’t, we came as soon as we could.” she corrects quickly. “Emma, do you really think that we would abandon you, after what you did?” She doesn’t speak the last two words, instead, Regina steps closer, making sure to stand in front of Henry as she faces this Emma, if it is Emma. Her hearts beats once, then twice as she looks into her eyes. “We came here to rescue _you_.”

The bitterness twists into Emma’s features, “I did just fine doing that myself.”

“But you didn’t have to!” Hook speaks. Regina turns to face him, withholding the eye roll, but not a piercing _what-the-hell-are-you-doing-guyliner_ glare. “You shouldn’t have to save yourself. We, all of us, should have been there when you arrived in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Yes,” Emma says, before looking away, turning to stare to where her parents were, hip to hip, standing together. “You weren’t though, none of you were there when I needed you, and I was left to look after myself. Again.” The words, carefully said, were like serrated knives into her parent’s hearts.

Another ten years, lost. Ten years they’ll never have with their daughter – and, Mary Margaret realises with horror, because if what Emma’s saying is true – ten years they’ll never get back with baby Neal. They had left him with Granny and Robin, deeming a trip to the Enchanted Forest too dangerous for him.

Emma turns on her heel then, moving to leave with her last words hanging in the air over them.

“Wait!” Hook calls out, “You came here to see us, you wanted answers from us, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now, right, love?” His expression is hopeful, handing reaching out as if maybe, this time, Emma will reach back.

She doesn’t.

“I have my answers,” Emma replies. Then before anyone can stop her, she disappears is a gust of wind and black smoke.


	2. Between the idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Crush it,” he says, his voice low and pleased. “She’ll barely feel a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will be updated, hopefully so as not to be too spoiler-y, but I will include anything that I feel is important before hand, such as triggers that are needed.
> 
> The timeline will jump back and forth between 'present' (with Granny's Diner) and 'past' (with Emma, ten years ago in Camelot) it should probably have been noted before, but there's a few people I decided wouldn't realistically go to Camelot, such as baby Neal. 
> 
> The idea of taking a baby on a dangerous ride and then into a forest without any vaccinations in such a crucial time of his childhood, on top of the dangers of the Dark One, is just unrealistically stupid for any parent to do. However, the actions of the Charmings so far tell me that they try not to split up and I can see them thinking that this whole to Camelot and back won't take longer than a week. 
> 
> I also decided that the dwarves coming along, who served no real purpose to the story canonically in the show, didn't necessarily need to be there. I can see the Charmings more likely to push them into taking care of Neal with the others, including Granny who is as smart as she is dangerous and an excellent person to look after Neal, having raised both her daughter and her granddaughter.
> 
> In saying this, however, it's my own feelings. 
> 
> Belle, however, I've included because the Blue Fairy is right, a book-smart person, who has great capacities in research and reading multiple languages is needed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, leave any questions you may have!

_Ten Years Ago,_

Merida’s heart is warm to hold. A slow, steady beat whispers in the palm of Emma’s hand, calling to her as her fingers press into its shell. If she squeezes with a bit more pressure, she knows it will shatter to dust in hand. 

She hurts, she fucking _hurts._ The anger burns inside of her like a supernova; this woman _lied_ to her, stole from her, manipulated her, and god dammit, she tried to freaking kill her! She’s no better than people like Zelena, like Cruella. Like her foster homes. 

_No, Emma_ , a thought whispers, paralysing her. Mr Gold, rather, Rumplestiltskin is staring at her, his mouth peeled into a wide grin. “Crush it,” he says, his voice low and pleased. “She’ll barely feel a thing.” 

_You don’t want to do this_ . It’s not Hook’s mellowed voice speaking to her, not her mother’s whisper, desperate and strained. Rather, Regina’s voice; the calm, steady voice in her head, speaking against Gold’s, Rumplestiltskin’s. _Don’t do this._

She lets go and the heart almost slips from her fingertips. Merida’s eyes are wide open, terrified against pale skin as Emma looks at the pulsing thing in her hand. “Please,” comes Merida’s lilt. “Please, do not kill me. I have brother’s that’ll die.” 

“I…” 

“You need to do it, dearie.” He’s standing next to her, his face stilled and turning to look over Merida. “You need the wisp to find Merlin.” 

“I _need_ to,” Emma whispers, lowly to Merida. Without Merlin, the darkness will only grow inside of her. 

“Sacrifice is necessary for the greater good,” Rumplestiltskin says. 

“Sacrifice is necessary,” she echoes. 

Merida’s bright blue eyes, wide open as Emma squeezes the heart again, begin to well up with tears. “ _Please_ ,” she begs, straining through her breath. 

_Emma_ . A sudden thought, warm and warning her. She can almost see Regina’s eyes, staring into her. A quiet thought, unspoken, is transferred through her mind, developing forth an understanding of whom Regina once was, and not who she is. She’d seen the Evil Queen, not Madame Mayor Regina Mills, but the _Evil Queen_ when she went back with Killian. No, no, she can’t become that. 

She’s better than this. She has a choice. 

Rumple’s smile vanishes, his golden eyes glaring into her. “Be careful, dearie. If you let her go, what will happen the next time she sees you? She might just bring back an army to take vengeance on this moment.” 

Emma looks to him, her mouth parting. Merida _is_ a queen, and god, she wants to believe, she wants to give in and just _do it,_ because he’s right. Whatever happens next, she can’t see Merida trusting her ever again, forgiving her. She’s already murderer, is one more really that different? 

_Mum_ . Henry’s face swims in front of her. Henry, her son. Her son who needs her. Who’s probably already doing everything to get her back with a new operation name and a shaky plan. No, she can’t give in. 

“If you hesitate, she’ll kill you first,” Rumple’s voice is like black smoke, drifting over her. 

_No._ No! 

“No,” Emma steadies. “No, I’m, I’m not that person.” Before Rumple can change her mind, she thrusts the heart back into Merida’s chest, backing away quickly as Merida gulps down a heavy breath, falling to her knees. Emma cradles her hand to her chest, it feels burnt and ice cold without the heavy _beat-beat_ of the warm heart. 

She hates herself for how good it felt, the sensation crawling over her skin, down her arm. She can’t think about it, not yet, she’s not ready for it yet. 

Merida’s fingers struggle beside her, searching for her bow and arrow, but in the second it takes to find the familiar wood, it’s gone in a puff of smoke. Once again, she’s left defenceless before the witch. Her head snaps up to stare, waiting for this witch to kill her this time. 

“I’m going to leave,” Emma says, her hand outstretching slowly, as though Merida is a wild dog she’s trying soothe. “I’ve moved your weapons back to the campsite from last night. I…I’m sorry, Merida. I…” the words stick in her throat, unable to be finished. 

With a wave of her hands, her eyes clutched tightly, Emma teleports herself from all of this to twenty feet away, far behind Merida. It’s the furthest she can see to teleport herself to, but it’s far enough to run. 

She escapes further into the forest, pushing around trees, her cloak catching on wayward branches, outstretched for the sun while her feet hit heavy on the ground. She feels small again, she feels like the same girl who ran away from her foster homes into a great big city. 

She has to move forward, she has to. Wherever that may be. 

“What _is_ your plan now?” Rumplestiltskin asks, appearing next to her as she slows down, following the riverbank north. At least, she thinks it’s north. It might be east. 

Around the age of twelve, she’d been a girl scout for almost a whole month, but fuck all that it does for her now. She isn’t even sure if the Enchanted Forest’s sun follows the same pattern as Earth’s. 

Are they still on Earth? 

God, this alternative dimensions thing is too confusing. 

“Ignoring me won’t last, dearie.” 

“It’s working fine for now,” she mutters darkly, glaring ahead of her. There’s an irksome annoyance tickling her mind, Rumplestiltskin had raised a valid issue, what _is_ her plan now that she’s given up the will o’ the wisp? 

So far? Marching forward. 

She needs to find Merlin first, and then she needs a way back to Storybrooke, to Henry, and the others. 

Her hearts feels heavy, painful. Stopping, she catches herself on a tree, taking a deep breath. Does she deserve them? She wants them, desperately, but _does_ she deserve them? All her life she made the decision to give up Henry, knowing it gave him his best chance. Perhaps staying here, far away from him also gives him his best chance. 

She murdered Cruella, however you want to cut it, before all of this darkness overtook her. So what’s to say that the darkness is nothing more than just an excuse to project blame away from her self. 

No, Regina can help her, can’t she? They’re probably on their way now, they’ll appear any moment and help her. Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes. Right before her, on the ground, is a crater in the earth she’d almost stepped into. 

Lifting her head up, Emma stares at the scene before her. For a moment, she thinks its her own doing, but it’s not, at least, she doesn’t think it is. Trees have been snapped in half by a wild force, and there’s black charcoal on the ground in the epicentre of blast as if an explosion had hit or come from that spot. 

Whatever has caused it, she hopes it’s long since gone from here. 

“What the hell is that?” she asks, looking to her companion for the first time with intention. 

“ _That_ ,” Rumplestiltskin points to, “is magic backwash. Looks like someone tried to do a powerful spell here with not quite enough focus. Try not to let that happen with your spells, the Dark One has a reputation to keep.” 

The charcoal still leaves a sharp scent in her nostrils. Pushing off the tree, Emma walks down to the blast, stepping over to where the edge of the charcoal has reached across the ground, having cast onto the edges of surrounding broken trees. 

Crouching down with an outstretched hand, she feels for any heat residue to tell her how recent the blast was. Nothing. It may have happened today, but long enough ago that the heat has already evaporated. 

Something feels wrong about it. 

“Would you look at that,” Rumplestiltskin says. 

Turning away from the blast, she sees a flash of red in the forest, before a rumbling hits her ears. Her eyes dart around to look between the trees, catching glimpses of horses galloping towards her, with men cloaked in red abroad their backs. 

Emma’s heart feels as if it’s seized in her chest, her body becoming immobile. She should run, leave before some trouble starts, but she doesn’t. For some reason, her feet keep grounded, with her hands flat by her sides. 

“Halt!” a man says unnecessarily, leading the others. Slowing his horse down to a light trot, he gestures to the soldiers to surround her. “You there, what is your name?” 

Emma blinks once, twice. Already, she can tell that magic or not, it wouldn’t be wise to take them on as she is. “Emma?” she answers awkwardly, looking up at him. The man appears tall to her, dark hair and dark eyes, with a beard decent enough that his men probably didn’t mock him. From his horse, he seems to be confused by her appearance in some way, though she could say the same about her to him. 

“Where are your kinsmen?” he asks her. 

“My…kings men?” Is that meant to refer to her parent’s dwarves? 

“Kinsmen. Merlin foretold a group of you appearing with the Saviour.” 

_Merlin_ . Emma exhales, relief flooding through her before her mind processes the second part of his sentence. She opens her mouth, perhaps to admit to being the Saviour, before Rumplestiltskin appears beside the horse, lifting a finger to silence her. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. You hardly know him enough to make such wild claims to what you are or are not presently.” 

She swallows back the reply, appearing more like a starstruck high school girl than a befuddled Dark One. “W-who are you?” she manages to splutter out. 

He stares at her, before laughing, “Of course,” he states, “my apologies.” Climbing off the horse, the man moves to stand before her, bowing shortly before her. “I am King Arthur. King to-” 

“Camelot,” she breathes. 

“Yes, you’ve heard of me then?” 

Emma finds a chuckle, bittersweet in her throat. “You’re kind of famous from where I’m from.” She admits then, looking to her feet to make sure she’s still standing there before looking around to the other men. “Is Merlin…with you then?” she asks. If he is, then half her problems were about to disappear. 

“No, he is not.” 

“Oh,” she pauses, she thinks to herself, then risks asking, “Is it possible to see him?” 

Arthur sighs, shaking his head. “It is unfortunately not possible.” Looking to the other men, he frowns to them as they begin to mutter between themselves. “Merlin has yet to have been wrong, perhaps his message is more vague than we realised,” Arthur speaks, in attempt to soothe their fears. 

Emma doesn’t care for prophecies and what not. What she does care about is not being the Dark One. “Why isn’t it possible?” she asks, her voice echoing her bail bonds-person days. She does, however, bring the attention back to her successfully. 

But Arthur pauses to look at her, a hesitation holding his lips briefly that she regrets. Maybe a softer approach would have worked better in her favour. “Please do not take insult, fair maiden, but discussing a friend to a stranger is perhaps an unattractive option. If you understand?” 

“Oh,” Emma blinks. “No, I guess. Private issue, right.” Nodding she stands awkwardly in the middle of the men, waiting for them to allow her to pass on her way again. Though, if they have Merlin, it might be better to follow them into Camelot if possible. 

“I wonder,” Rumplestiltskin asks, still standing next to Arthur’s horse, “what lead them to come here of all places. I doubt Merlin specified a random place that somehow coincidentally lead them to you.” He had a point. 

“Why did you come here to find those prophesied?” Emma asks. Arthur looks to her suspiciously, quickly, she states, “I mean, was there a location in the prophecy or…” she stops, stepping awkwardly as the men continue to stare at her silently. “It’s just that I might be able to help. Fresh eyes and all.” She laughs, though the sound is weak and fragile. 

However, it’s enough to endear her to the king. “We saw a tornado hit here, early in the morning. This was to be a sign that they had arrived, but perhaps it is not so simple. Men, what do you think?” 

“Maybe there’s more than one tornado to come?” a man suggests. Arthur shrugs, his expression bemused by the situation. 

Emma frowns, “Are tornados, err, common in these parts?” It was unlikely, but maybe this part of the Enchanted Forest was the equivalent to her Kansas in some magical way. 

However, Arthur moves to look around the area of the magical backwash, “No, they’re not common to this land whatsoever.” His brow seems to wrinkle, looking to the scorched mark. “Did you see something here before we arrived?” 

“Just what you see, here. I barely had time to take a good look before you arrived, actually.” She smiles, then drops the smile as Arthur looks to her inquisitively again. “Don’t tell me there’s something on my face,” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Where are you from?” 

“Me?” Emma finds herself frozen, feeling dread grow inside of her. “I move around a lot. Even as a kid. I’m an orphan, sort of,” the truth comes out, knowing that a lie would more likely cause her to get caught, which would then probably lead her to go all Dark One again, an option she wishes to avoid. 

“Sort of an orphan?” Arthur echoes. 

“I was…kind of abandoned in the forest. I got picked up and moved around as a kid. Never really…had a home, I guess.” She shrugs, feeling some emptiness as she thinks of Storybrooke. Five _years_. Five years she has actively chosen to remain there. For Henry, for her parents, for…everyone, in a way. 

“Emma, was it?” Emma nods. “Something tells me that I was meant to find you here, that Merlin’s prophecy has lead me to you for some reason.” 

“Ahh,” she says. “I’m not sure that…” she trails off, wondering what he would say if she told him she doesn’t believe in prophecies. 

“Would you please come to Camelot with myself and my men?” Emma looks around to the men, their expressions unreadable. She sees Rumplestiltskin then, grinning widely. She gets the feeling that from the wording Arthur had used, as politely spoke as it was, that if she didn’t go voluntarily, she’d be taken chained up somehow. 

“Okay,” she says weakly. 

“You’ll be a guest of mine, of course,” he smiles. There’s dimples and teeth, not unlike how Killian smiles. A man used to getting exactly what he wants. 

“Lead the way,” she says. Arthur doesn’t climb back onto his horse as she expects, rather, he moves to lead his horse on foot, making casual conversation for the half day walk back to Camelot as his men trot their horses in formation around them both, leading them back to the King’s Road. 

“So where have you been in the Enchanted Forest?” he asks her. 

To answer this, Emma relies on when she came to the Enchanted Forest the first time with her mother, with Aurora and Mulan, though making the tale sound as though she spent most of it on her own, or with strangers she had met, before mentioning places her and Killian had been in that whole time-travel spell. She withholds names, unsure of what Arthur may think of anything he knows. 

In the back of her mind, as she speaks, or Arthur mentions his own travels to similar areas, Emma wonders exactly what Arthur’s intentions are for her in Camelot. What she does know, pop-culturally of Arthur, is what most other kids knew from books and movies. Arthur is with Guinevere, who runs off with Lancelot in the end, and Excalibur is pulled from the stone. 

She had been about six or eight the first and only time she saw ‘Sword in the Stone’ and most of that was a blur with some old guy and a small blonde boy, and so far, Arthur does not appear to be a very white, blonde haired, blue eyed boy. 

A small stray thought does tickle quite far back in her mind, wondering how easily she could have allowed the darkness to take a hold of her and murder someone. She can’t let the thought continue, if she allows it for more than a second, her chest tightens and she can’t breathe. 

The sun starts to sink below the trees faster than Emma expects. As it does, it casts burnt reds and oranges across the skyline as they arrive to see the walls of Camelot painted in the sunset. It’s soothing, in a way, and an extraordinary sight to see. 

Arthur, his intentions still unknown, seems so far to be a caring man, worried for his kingdom for some reason he has yet to disclose. She doesn’t yet trust him, but she’s willing to give him a chance at least. With that and the lack of Rumplestiltskin hanging around the corner of her eye, she begins to feel that maybe she can get through this. All she has to do is find Merlin and get back to Storybooke. 

Easy. 

“This is my home,” Arthur says proudly, leading her through the large, heavy wooden doors, into the castle. There, she’s moved from a large, spectacular foyer, up a grande staircase, down a hall, into a room with…the round table. She’d forgotten all about that. 

Turning around, she notices herself only with Arthur and one other knight. Arthur had introduced her to all his men on the trip over, telling stories about each and every one of them, along with his wife Guinevere. Emma however, had not failed to notice that Lancelot was never mentioned. 

As a woman steps into the room, adorned in a red silk dress, Emma can only assume as her hand takes Arthur’s, that this is his wife Guinevere. 

“This is my beautiful wife, Guinevere,” Arthur greets. A satisfied feeling of _called it_ sits in Emma’s chest briefly. “Guinevere, this is Emma. We found her where Merlin’s prophecy lead us to find the Saviour.” 

“I thought there was to be more?” she asks, with a lilt, different from her husband’s. “Never mind, it is lovely to meet you Emma,” she corrects her impropriety, moving over to clasp Emma’s hands, before curtsying before her. “You are most welcome in our home.” 

“I-“ Emma coughs nervously, pulling her hand free to do so. “It’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure…I mean, that if Merlin intended for me,” she looks between the two people, pink burning against her cheeks. She _is_ , maybe the Saviour. It’s hard to know. Are you still the Saviour if you’re also the Dark One? There has to be some sort of magical law against that abomination happening. 

“Nonsense, you were at the site Merlin said you would appear.” Arthur grins at her proudly, stepping forward to clasp her shoulder. “Yes, I admit, there was told to be more than one, but prophecies are never always as straight forward as they first seem. I remember once, a prophecy told of a green and red dragon fighting, only for it to mean two kingdoms battling on the field.” 

Emma feels a tired sigh pull in her. She catches it before it escapes and allows a slight smile to be interpreted by Arthur as something polite. If these people are good people, she doesn’t want to lie to them. 

“What do you need a saviour for?” Emma asks. “Is there some dragon that you need someone to slay, or some spell that needs to be broken, or…?” she trails off, feeling awkward, hoping to god it’s not another dragon. She could not deal with another dragon. 

“Later,” Arthur says with a smile. “We’ll discuss this soon enough, but we travelled for most of today, why don’t you rest and we’ll discuss some things tomorrow? Gwen can lead you to one of our guest rooms.” 

Guinevere turned to her with a smile, happily looping her arm through Emma’s and began chatting adamantly about their castle and its security. As they left down the hall, leading to a further set of stairs, Guinevere whispers lowly, “Please ignore my husband, he finds it difficult to trust new people,” she says. “I’m sure he’ll speak with you soon enough, when he feels you are trustworthy.” 

“No, I get it,” Emma nods, “It’s all just…” _so much_ , she thinks and Guinevere seems to catch onto her unsaid words. 

“I understand, but please do not fear anything. We have much to offer a guest. The servants will run you a warm bath if you asked, there’s food to be had and…” she pauses looking to her, “excuse the rudeness of my question, but did you perhaps have a bag you wished to be brought to your room?” 

Emma opens her mouth and the lies come out, surprising her, “I lost it to bandits,” she says, and her mother’s face appears in her mind. “This is all I have for now. I’m sorry,” she says, genuinely. Compared to the beautiful dress Guinevere is wearing, she feels underdressed and grubby. 

“We can bring you clothes, things nobles have left.” Emma feels her cheeks turn pink again. By now, she realises, she should be used to second hand clothes. Guinevere, apparently reading her body language, grasps her arm tightly with a genuinely soft smile, “Do not take insult, Emma, my husband and myself were but lowly peasants not long ago, we understand what it’s like to have little for no fault of your own.” 

Emma finds her throat sticking before she manages a small, sweet, “thank you.” She likes Guinevere more than Arthur. Whether it’s because it’s another woman, who’s friendly smile comes easier, or because of the circumstances of meeting Arthur placing her on edge, she’s unsure. But she’s come along way in survival by trusting her gut instinct, and her gut instinct says to trust Guinevere over Arthur. 

“Here is your room,” Guinevere says, pulling away to open a standard door. The hall they were in had stone floors and red and gold threaded carpet that reached from one end to the other. It also had a dozen wooden doors or so, all plain looking and rather modest for a castle. Art works and tapestries stretches between doorways, featuring acts of heroism of distant heroes, or portraits of people Emma didn’t recognise. 

The door to her room opens up to a large bedroom, spacious and not unlike a decent suite at a five star hotel, Emma thinks. There’s a large bed, a dress, a sitting area and another area off to the side of the bedroom which may be where the bathtub is. 

“Thank you,” Emma says again, turning to face Guinevere. 

“It is my pleasure, Emma. I’ll have some servants bring up water for the bath and new clothes. Would you like to eat dinner in here?” 

“Ah…” Emma blinks. “Yeah, that’s fine, I guess.” Perhaps dining at the table was only for feasts or really important guests. 

“You can feel safe at home, here. There’s a public library the next floor up, if you speak to the servants, they’ll tell you where if you get lost. You may wander the gardens if you so wish, too. There’s a stable there as well, if you like to ride.” 

“Thank you,” Emma says. 

“Whatever you need, just ring the bell there and the servants will help you if they’re able to.” 

Emma nods, having no response. 

“Enjoy,” she says, before nodding politely in leave, shutting the door behind her as to give Emma her privacy. 

“Will do,” Emma whispers, turning to look over in the room. The room is decorated, unlike the hallway had been, in blue and silver. She moves over to where a large window is, perpendicular to the kingsized bed, and pulls the glass door open, looking out to the scene before her. 

She can see over the forest, where the river snakes betweens breaks in the trees. There’s a large, massive tree down in the castle grounds, and a garden surrounding it that isn’t unpleasant to the eye, Emma had seen enough suburban homes in her life time to know a well tended garden. She can’t see the stables, though they’re probably amongst the other side. What she can see is bits of a village poking up amongst thickets of trees, just in sight to her left, mostly hidden around the spire of the castle. 

The castle seems nice enough, cold and indifferent though. It feels more like staying at a hotel than being a guest to someone, and Emma doesn’t enjoy the impersonal feel of it all. 

That’s too say anything on Guinevere or Arthur and their hospitality, so far it’s been four stars, at least, and it’s pretty cool to actually be staying in a castle. 

The thought brings a smile to her lips before she thinks of Henry. He would have loved to have been here, to go to the stable and run around a castle. All he speaks of is the Enchanted Forest when he can, pulling out stories from all of Storybooke’s inhabitants. 

Ruby used to tell the most wild of them all, before she had left last year. Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, Emma wonders if Ruby is out there, having found what she needs. It’d be nice to think there was a friend out there in the great new land, who could help her get back home. 

Something flash before her eyes. Jumping up, Emma grabs at the window’s ledge, leaning out of the sill to wait and see if it happens again. It had appeared, almost as if a green tornado had been there, like a ghost of what had hit the forest just as Arthur had said. It had only been there a second, gone fast enough that she couldn’t be sure of what she had seen, but long enough to make her wonder. 

“Ah,” Rumple says, surprising her. “Looks like you might have seen the problem to Merlin’s prophecy.” 

Emma turns, a resentment burning inside of her at seeing the imp again. “What the hell was that?” she asks him. 

“Can’t spell everything out for you, dearie. Looks like it’s time for you to hit the books.” With one of his giggles that left a chillness rushing down her back, Emma turns to face away from him, staring out into the woods. How in the world could she research briefs flashes of a tornado? Was there an encyclopaedia for weird weather magic gone awry? 

When she turns to look back to where Rumplestiltskin had stood before, she’s unsurprised to find him gone. A knock at the door, however, leads her over to where a few servants stand. Two decently muscular men are carrying a chest between them, as a few women bring large pails of steaming hot water. 

They all move in, the women moving to empty the buckets into the metal tub sitting behind a folded, wooden room divider. The men, however, place the large chest before her bed, dusting there hands with a smile. “Clothes for you, m’lady,” they say, bowing politely before they leave. 

Emma stares at the wooden chest, the box is made of wood with gold inlay on the clasp, and carvings of dragons and lions on the wood on the sides. 

“Your bath is ready,” one of the servants says, stepping before her with the two other women behind. “Will you require any other services of us?” 

Emma blinks, “No, no. I’m good. Thank you.” The servants all curtsey before her, then leave, just as the others had. Turning, she steps over to where the bath is. It’s a shallow, metallic bath, just like all those old movies she’d seen. It’s a bit unnerving at first, the idea someone may walk into the room. How did her parents deal with this, did everyone do this? 

No, many of them probably didn’t wash very often. There’s probably bad hygiene through most of the land, no antibiotics, no vaccines, no plumbing and toilets! No cheeseburgers! God, did Regina really do a disfavour by sending them to Storybrooke, then? 

The thought enters her head before she can stop it. No, from what she understood, they lived in a perpetual state of groundhog day, never changing, never growing and separated from everything they were and knew. 

It is some kind of Hell, Emma knows. Twenty or so years feeling empty and not understanding why. 

Reaching down, she drags a hand in the soap bath, feeling the water temperature. There was no time like the present, she supposes. Undressing, Emma climbs in and sinks in the bath, attempting to in some way wash the oily feeling from her hair and skin. She doesn’t want to think about arriving from the darkness, the black oil like substances slipping over her. 

She’d rather think of plan. Find Merlin, take out the darkness, get home. Emma stops, realising a missing part in all of this, to rid the darkness, she’ll need the dagger, which is in Storybrooke. 

Okay, easy, find Merlin, go home, get the darkness taken out, celebrate. A much better plan. 

The water’s nice as she shuts her eyes and allows herself to relax into it, keeping her mind focused on the plan. Focusing on the plan makes it easier to feel her muscles loosen in the heat, the oil hopefully washing off her. 

It’s something at least, better than using magic to disappear all the dirt in a puff of coloured smoke. She doesn’t want to become someone who uses magic just for their convenience. She didn’t want to become Rumplestiltskin, or whom Regina was before all of this. 

That, and she’s not sure she quite understand how to do any of that sort of magic yet. 

The thought of Regina weighs heavily in her mind. She half wishes the woman could be here with her, just to help her with all of this dark magic inside of her. Before this, she never quite understood how someone could become something like the Evil Queen she saw. 

But things were starting to make sense. Having power, real power, when you’re used to being treated as less-than…it’s addictive. There are still lots of moments where Emma knows Regina had a choice, and chose the poorer one, but…she was starting to understand her more. 

And the Regina she knows now isn’t the woman she was before. 

Getting out of the bath and drying herself off, she places on one of dresses, seeing no pants within chest. She’s almost tempted to ring the bell and ask for some, for comforts sake. The dress is nice, soft against her skin in contrast to the itchy one she’d found herself in the Enchanted Forest in, but it’s not her. 

It’s all silk and embroiled lightly, and, admitted, tastefully with flowers. It’s still not her. What she needed is some denim pants, a standard shirt, and her red leather jacket. Then she could face this. Probably. She’d at least feel comfortable while facing it. 

Staring into a small hand mirror, she’s not sure of the person staring back at her. The pale skin and tired eyes reminds her too much of the girl who just got out of jail, having lost everything. Having given up Henry. 

The mirror feels heavy in her hand, setting it down, she feels her legs shake and give out, letting her drop onto the edge of the bed as feels the shock of what’s happened wear off. As her throat swells, Emma lies down, her face slipping over the white pillow, a faint flowery scent coming off the material. 

She breathes the scent in before the sob wreaks out through her teeth and she begins to cry. 


End file.
